Cleansing
by Cal reflector
Summary: Three years after the conclusion of the war against Ukyo and the Nobuseri, a young Samurai returns to Kanna Village amidst a celebration, and Kirara remembers.
1. Chapter 1: Festival

Cleansing: A Samurai 7 fanfiction

Author: Cal-Reflector

Disclaimer: I do not owned Samurai 7 or the characters contained therein.

**Chapter One: Festival**

_Kanna Village, Kirara's home._

Kirara sat, unmoving, on the walkway outside of her room, watching the small wind chime above her sway in the breeze. The gentle wind wove through the suspended bamboo clappers and played the sound of summer as the heat of the day gradually subsided with the setting of the sun.

In the distance, one could hear from the main village final preparations being made for the celebration of the summer festival. It would be just the third one the village has held every year, since such festivities were impossible in the days of the Nobuseri.

She reached down to pick up her tea, wounding her fingers around the coolness of the fired clay and after a long sip, set it down again. Three years had passed peacefully since the defeat of the bandits by the samurai, during which the village had steadily recovered into modest prosperity. It seemed that even the Heavens smiled at last upon the village's inhabitants, who for so long have endured and suffered, by sending sun and rain in such abundance and raising the crops to such surplus that there was enough even to trade for fish, bolts of new cloth, and other commodities that were unimaginable luxuries just three years ago.

Kirara listened to the sounds of the chimes above and the chattering noises from afar. Komachi had run off with her friends to "help" with the preparations a while before, their efforts more likely to bring trouble than help to the occupied adults. Kirara sighed; her younger sibling seemed to have enough energy for the both of them, something that had become more apparent as time went on.

It was not necessarily a bad thing though. Kirara knew that, even though Komachi had took on her role as the water maiden, she was but a child still, and after so many years of nothing but sweat and tears at the end of the day, the village was slowly beginning to find laughter again, and wasn't that the most important thing?

Suddenly, the unmistakable voice of Kirara's younger sister rang out amidst a multitude of laughter, and this time she had to suppress her chuckle. She mused at the thought of having Kikuchiyo present on this marry occasion, where he would no doubt have lent much of his boisterous and brawling personality to liven up things even more.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Kikuchiyo-sama, Gorobei-sama, Heihachi-sama, Kyuzo-sama…"

For a moment the chimes were stilled, and Kirara's thoughts drifted to the place where the four were laid to rest; atop of a hill not far from where she was now, from where they would continue to watch over this village of farmers and peasants for whom they laid down their lives.

Earlier in the morning, on the day which marked the beginning of the celebration, Kirara, the elderly village headman, Komachi, and the rest of the village had proceeded up the slopes to the clearing at the top where their graves were set. They gathered there to tend to and clean the site, pulling out stray weeds and placing down fresh flowers of the season atop of the graves. Prayers and offerings of thanksgiving were made to the warriors who fell in their defense, along with entreaties for their continued protection and vigilance. Afterwards, as the rest of the village left to prepare for the evening's festivities, Rikichi, his wife Sanae, and the two sisters stayed behind.

It had become an unspoken tradition for the four, every year, as they endeavored to spend a little more time in the presence of those whom they had experienced so much together with. Like always, Rikichi would laugh and cry at the same time when he retold the story of the time he was forced into a thorough transgender makeover by Gorobei and Heihachi in order to escape the scrutiny of the bandit patrols. And like always, Sanae-san would laugh quietly along with her husband and wipe away his tears afterwards.

Kirara closed her eyes and a small smile formed at the recollection. She knew how much they had to be thankful for.

The breeze picked up again, and the gentle sound of the chimes resumed once more, joined now by a cicada from the woods nearby. She opened her eyes, and saw that the village was now lit cheerfully against the night skies by numerous lanterns and torches. Yet, though her sight rested on the joyous scene, her mind lingered on top of the hills. She could not help but feel that they had not done their saviors justice, and a twinge of guilt stung her at the thought that they had left them behind in too much haste in order to begin their own merriment. She always understood that the debt to the samurai could never be repaid with the mere rice they humbly accepted as payment, and to see the villagers begin to forget this so soon weighed heavily upon her conscience.

She had often hoped of discovering a way through which her gratitude could be properly expressed, but that was only wishful thinking. The dead are beyond the reach of mortals, and there was nothing she could offer to those who lived which could even begin to compensate what they deserved. The last time she heard, Shichirouji was living happily with Yukino, whom he had finally wed and now settled together with at the inn. He had informed her several months after their departure from the village that Kanbei had taken up the cloth and has been journeying distant lands as a priest since.

It pained her in the beginning to realize that she would probably never see him again, the man whom she sought out first, the man who protected her and the village, the man whom her heart had rested on. She had never been able to confess her feelings, and the one time she came close to doing so, on the eve of the final battle, he stopped her.

"_My heart is already corrupted… the scent of water cannot be found on me._

It had hurt her very much for him to remove himself from her life, but long ago, deep inside a part of her soul that she chose not to acknowledge, she had known that this was how it would be. No matter how brightly the orb of her pendant glowed with the warmth of her heart's yearning, it was always from her feelings alone. She had known, that there was no way she could ever know him on an intimate level, for his heart had long been closed, incapable of such tender feeling after too many years of battle, weariness, and defeat.

And so she moved on, and was able to let him go with a smile on her face. Yet, though those feelings which she held for Kanbei were vanquished, she could not to this day forgive herself for her sin; that as a result of her selfish emotions she had cast yet more burdens on his already weighted soul, and had eyes only for him when the others had fought and died. She knew that she could no longer carry out her duties as the water maiden, for the purity of the pendant could no longer respond to a heart fouled by an unclean conscience. The passage of time had not held no reprieve, and she continued to serve her self-imposed penance, resigned to take upon herself the consequences of her sins.

A great shout from the village roused Kirara back into the present, and the voice was soon joined by more until a great commotion had broken out.

"What could be the matter?" She murmured as she rose from her reverie, "Komachi better have not snuck away sweets from the feast table like she did last year."

Stepping off the wooden walkway and into her sandals, she got up and started down the path towards the village and noise to verify her suspicions.

Entering the main body of the village, she saw that a great crowd had gathered around the front of the new village hall, and surrounded in the middle of the excitement a single figure stood out, a head taller than the rest. The poor lighting outdoors prevented her from seeing more clearly, but from the tall silhouette she was able to deduce it to a man. As she drew nearer his features came better into view from the light of a lantern held high by a passerby, and just as she was about to get a good look, Komachi broke free from the encirclement and ran into her arms, excitement written all over her face.

"Nee-chan! Nee-chan! Look who's come back! It's Katsunoji!"

And then she recognized him.

He seemed the same, yet different some how from how she remembered him: his hair was still long, and tied back in a way as to leave several strands in front to frame his face. The light orange cloak he wore now had evidence of much travel and gave him a mature air that seemed strangely appropriate yet odd, for in her memory he was still the youth, the youngest of the seven, who was no longer boy but not quite man. It had been three years though, and that would have been plenty of time for him to gain the extra build and height that enhanced his presence as a grown man now.

She did not notice that, as her sister would tell her much later that night, the pendant which hung from her wrist glowed ever so softly for the first time in a long, long time right after she ran to surprise her with whom the visitor was.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** In truth, I had planned and begun preliminary work on this story nearly six months ago, but as the series' popularity waned, I became discouraged as to whether there would be enough fans and potential readers to make writing a long fanfic for Samurai 7 worthwhile. Here's hoping for the best anyways, and if you like what you have seen so far, by all means encourage your friends to view the series and read the stories written by admiring fans. 


	2. Chapter 2: Moonlight

**Cleansing: A Samurai 7 fanfiction**

Author: Cal-Reflector

Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai 7 or the characters contained therein.

**Chapter 2: Moonlight.**

_Inside the village hall.  
_

Katsushirou never knew that farmers could drink so much.

In these past few years, he had seen his share of banquets and feasts that samurai participated in, and while they could hold their liquor well, the farmers that surrounded him tonight could obviously drink them to the floor in a contest.

"Whachya' thinking about, Samurai-sama? Drink up! Drink up! We're here to celebrate!"

"Thanks, but I think I've had enough…" Before he could decline however, the man had already filled his cup again and moved on to another table. Katsushirou frowned; he had never been much for liquor, aside from the occasional bottle after dinner where wine was available, having seen too many lose all sense of discipline after they throw down cup after cup of sake, swallowing without tasting but merely losing their heads.

Just when he was considering whether or not he should excuse himself from the party, which was starting to grow rowdy as people drank their fill, a man, already red in the face from too much drink, stumbled unsteadily onto the center of the floor where he asked with a slurred tongue for everyone's attention,

"Everyone, for yo… your viewing pleasure an… and our 'onored guest tonight, Katsushirou-sama, I… will now dance!"

The moment the man's shirt came off, Katsushirou decided to retire quietly from the scene as the room went up in an uproar of approval. Sliding the door shut behind him quietly, he hoped that his abrupt departure would not disappoint his hosts too much, though in their spirited merry-making it was not likely that his absence would be noticed.

When he stepped out into the street, he was refreshed by the night air, the room having been warmed considerably by the activity of so many bodies. Outside, decorated lanterns and bonfires illuminated the center of the village, where many adults and children were eating, playing, and enjoying themselves.

Katsushirou walked around the perimeter of the area where the activity was taking place to a small clearing, from where he watched some children chase after one another. He felt that it was good that they could finally enjoy the fruit of their labor without fear of having it stolen from them. Times of peace had come hard for these people, and he saw that it was best that they could live once more without knowing how to handle bows and guns; their farming hands were never meant for wielding weapons and taking life.

"That's our job, right, sensei?" Katsushirou placed his hands on the hilt of the katana at his waist, his thoughts drifting to the older samurai who had passed his sword onto him. He never saw Kanbei again since he left Kanna village three years; it had been a summer night as well.

"Katsushirou-sama…?" The sudden voice startled him and he spun around, his solitude not as complete as he thought, and when he saw who had addressed him, his eyes widened in recognition.

"Kirara-dono…"

The thin clouds over the moon dissipated, and her face came into full view under the pale light. Long black hair flowed down her back, moving slightly in the breeze, and in Katsushirou's mind the images he had of her came to life in the form of the young woman who stood before him now, with her hands folded meekly in front of her. A moment passed before he continued.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes…" Kirara looked at the ground, still surprised to have found Katsushirou alone. "How is it that you are not with the men celebrating in the village hall?"

Katushirou frowned a little, slightly ashamed that he had been caught leaving the party when he had been the guest of honor. "Things became… a little too exciting for me, plus I had drunk enough, and so I decided to come out for a walk."

"I see…" An uncomfortable silence passed between the two who, after being separated for three years, were still unused to suddenly find themselves in the company of the other once more. "Have you been well?"

"I have been traveling to many places, training, and… fighting." His looked away for a moment, at somewhere far away. "And you? How have you been?"

"I have been… fine." She felt a wave of relief when he did not seem to notice the hesitation in her answer. "Why have you suddenly decided to come visit us after all these years?" She winced inwardly, afraid that she had come across sounding as if he was not welcome.

"There was no particular reason, I have almost finished touring this region, and before I set out to the neighboring realms…" He turned towards the hills beyond the village. "…I thought that I might come back and see them again."

Kirara looked up towards him, and was able to scrutinize him up close for the first time since his return. She noticed that his features had truly matured, and the roundness that framed the young face in her memory had developed into firm, defined lines.

"He's really grown up…" She thought to herself. Looking closer, she noticed a scar under his jaw in the side of his neck. Though now healed to the point of being nearly unnoticeable, she knew at once that it had nearly been a fatal wound by its location. The thought struck her that he must have fought many more battles after he left, and her heart was pained by the thought of him having nearly died, as if he had not risked his life enough times fighting the bandits and the forces of Ukyo.

She wondered whether more scars lay beneath the cover of his clothes.

"Kirara-dono? Kirara-dono, are you all right?" Engrossed in her own thoughts, she did not immediately realize that Katsushirou had asked several times.

"Yes, I'm fine… Just a little tired."

"If that is the case, you should return home and rest soon." He replied, feeling slightly apologetic.

"Where will you stay tonight, Katsushirou-sama?"

"The village headman has kindly welcomed me to stay in his home. But before I turn in for the night, there is one place I need to visit first."

Kirara nodded, knowing where it was he meant. "I will accompany you."

Katsushirou did not respond immediately, and just when Kirara thought he would leave her and head off alone, he nodded.

"I apologize, for troubling you so late in the night… thank you." He began to walk towards the path that led to the graves, and Kirara followed after him.

-----

Twenty minutes later, during which no more conversation was made, they arrived at the site. The moon was unusually bright that night, and its fullness illuminated the graves and the swords that served as markers. Katsushirou knelt down in front of the four mounds and closed his eyes. Even after three years, he still recalled the faces and voices of his fallen comrades vividly: Gorobei's hearty and infectious laugh, Heihachi's ever present smile, Kyuzo's calm demeanor, and Kikuchiyo's deep booming voice.

He remembered all of this; in the days of his journey alone, as he drew his sword against innumerable foes—typically renegade samurai and their mercenary companions who had rose up everywhere to establish their own fiefdoms after the fall of the capital—he often felt that the time had come for him to join his fallen comrades in the afterlife.

But he survived. Alone, always outnumbered and in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, he had remained standing each time after the dust had settled and the earth was covered in a rain of red.

His experience and skills had grown each time, until his strength had gained such repute that his appearance alone was enough to compel most enemies to abandon their arms and flee. Those who he protected, grateful for the service he rendered even when they had not the means to reward him properly, spread word of his deeds. Fame meant nothing to Katsushirou, but if there was one thing that he appreciated from his growing reputation, it was that it lessened the number of instances in which bloodshed became necessary. Strong though he may have become, it was impossible to come away from every battle unscathed, his foes being either former samurai themselves or in much greater number, sometimes both.

He never stayed long in one place to take advantage of the hospitality of those he rescued; they of course did not mind at all, and would have welcomed him to stay forever had he felt inclined to settle down. But this was never the case, and so he continued his journey, thinking, hoping that with each battle he fought, each drop of blood he shed, he would come closer to finding the answer for which he had set out in the first place.

Kirara had knelt down beside Katsushirou with a respectful distance between them to give him privacy. Apart from the shadows cast by the clouds that moved across the moon face intermittently, time seemed to stop. Kirara's own thoughts were on the young samurai beside her, and as he was reflecting in his private world of memories, she could not help but wish to know the thoughts passed through his mind. When Katsushirou's eyes finally opened, he stood up slowly and stared far into the distance, as if in a trance.

"Kirara-dono…"

"Yes?" She replied in a voice hardly a whisper.

"Do you remember the last time we were here, together?"

She did, it had been some months after the war. After everyone had gone to bed, she had found him there, both of them having no room in their minds for sleep that night. "Yes… the moon was just like tonight's, full and bright."

Katsushirou breathed in deeply, inhaling the air that carried the scent of the flowers in front of the graves. During the day, they had blossomed further under the basking of the sun, and now their fragrance sweetened the air around them. A cloud came over the moon then and shielded its light from the night as Katsushirou went on.

"Nothing's changed… long ago, when you had told me that you would share my sin, and clean the blood that stained me… how those words had supported me. But now…"

She had forgotten, and the memory that came rushing back to her filled her with such a grief that it was all she could do to hold back the tears that threatened to overcome her. It seemed as if Katsushirou had been about to say something, but he paused mid-sentence, and now turned so he was facing Kirara, "… has the scent of the battlefield on me grown stronger?"

A tear fell, followed by another, and then more; at hearing those same words from a faint memory that now seemed just like yesterday, her barrier had fractured. Katsushirou, at a loss for a moment by Kirara's sudden tears, reached out to lay one hand one her trembling shoulder, while she amidst her tears was unable to return his gaze. "I… I'm so sorry…"

"It's not your fault..." His voice was calm, so placid that it seemed to carry no emotion. She looked up. "I took up the sword of my own will, and I do not regret the consequences…" And here he smiled a smile that seemed so empty yet contained such sadness that her heart nearly broke for him, "… even if it means an unclean conscience for the rest of my life."


	3. Chapter 3: Watching

**Cleansing: A Samurai 7 fanfiction**

Author: Cal-Reflector

Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai 7 or the character contained therein.

**Chapter 3: Watching**

_One week later_

The sounding of the cock rang clearly through the cool, crisp air of the morning, and as the light blanket of mist enshrouding the sleepy village began to dissipate under the sun's emerging rays, the inhabitants of Kanna roused slowly from their beds after a night of restful, uninterrupted slumber.

Katushirou had risen one hour before, and taking care not to disturb his still sleeping hosts, made his way out of the house and trekked several kilometers to a clearing within a forested area where a river ran through. After numerous rounds of complicated and vigorous drills, he stepped into the cool waters of the shallow river until he reached the center. There, his sandaled feet planted firmly in a sideways stance, he steadied his breathing and closed his eyes, calming himself with the quiet sounds of his surroundings.

Taking sword with both hands, he slowly swung the blade in a wide backwards arc until the tip just touched the bubbling surface, whereupon his eyes snapped open and the sword flashed forward in a full upwards cut that exploded the water around his feet into shining spray and split the river's flow in twain for nine meters upstream before the water quickly rushed back in to fill the void.

The sunlight that filtered through the dense canopies of the forest above glistened off the droplets that trickled down the side of Katsushirou's face as he listened to sound of his hastened heartrate return to normal.

Over the years the young samurai had cut many things, from cold rigid steel to warm flesh and bone, but no cast-iron armor, no Nobuseri shield, was harder to cut than a river's water, for it would always resume its flow towards its destination, and its surface would bear no scars, no matter the destructive strength of the sword wielder. It was a matter Katsushirou had considered before; that water, which sustains life in all its forms, which quenches thirst and makes clean what is soiled, should prove more lasting and indestructible than even man's most impregnable fortresses. As he contemplated the matter over time, he found his soul slightly disquieted by the irony, yet at the same time, filled with a strange sense of relief.

With two deft flicks of his arm, Katsushirou shook off the beads from his gleaming katana and returned it to its sheath, then began heading back towards Kanna.

------

After staying the first few days at the village headman's home, Katsushirou had grown uncomfortable with his freeloading off the senior's generosity, a notion the elder dismissed with a wave of his gnarled staff. "Nonsense." the wrinkled old man had said with a toothy grin, "With the service you rendered us, I would not care if you ate thirty meals a day instead of three."

He received warm invitations from many villagers into their homes, but seeing how many of them had large families, he chose to stay with Rikchi, who had recently built a new home for himself and his wife, and thus had plenty of room to spare; the couple's earnest requests and their past friendship had also been major factors in the young samurai's decision.

So as Katsushirou returned from training that morning, strolling between fields abundant with gently swaying stalks of rice which had yet to ripen, he saw a group of men assembled in a distant field, engaged in practice with the bow and arrow. Intrigued, he approached them and found amongst the gathering several familiar faces, including his host, Rikchi, who waved at him when he saw the samurai and walked up to greet him.

"Good morning, o-samurai-sama, you are up early today, as usual." After numerous unsuccessful attempts to cure the older man's stubborn habit of addressing him so formally--a habit which, unfortunately, other villagers took after--Katsushirou eventually decided to let the issue rest.

"Good morning, Rikchi, what are you all doing here? I thought that the village had no need for weapons any more." His expression suddenly became concerned. "Have there been signs of trouble lately?"

"No, no! Hardly any trouble at all!" The young farmer laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head as he tried to place his guest back at ease. "It's just that, well, after what we've been through, its good precaution to keep some arms at hand just in case, you know? Besides…" Rikchi turned to glance back at his companions, whose lively conversations took place between loud twangs of the bow as they waited their turns at the line. "It's a good way to keep in shape and enjoy some friendly competition."

Katushirou relaxed then and smiled. Following Rikchi's gaze, he saw the familiar figure of Manzo, the diminutive man who had nearly been executed by Heihachi for betraying information to the enemy on the eve of battle. After the end of the war, Manzo had, with the aid of the entire village, rebuilt his farm, which had been isolated from the rest of Kanna and been razed to the ground by the vengeful Nobuseri. "Good morning, Manzo. Never thought I'd see you pick up the bow voluntarily. How have you been doing?"

His wariness and resentment towards samurai much reduced by three years of peaceful prosperity, Manzo turned and replied cheerfully. "Fair enough, O-samurai-sama, fair-enough. Much thanks to you of course." The middle-aged man, who once was constantly hunched over with a timid look on his face, now stood with a straighter back and had a wizened air of good humor about him.

Members of Manzo's party, however, apparently disagreed with his statement, and voiced their opinions heard. "That's not true, o-samurai-sama! Old Manzo's marksmanship is so bad, we have just begun today and he already owes all of us one round of drinks!" The other men laughed loudly as the jeered farmer scowled and shook his bony fist at the offenders.

"I was still warming up! You bloodsuckers… you lot are worse than the Nobuseri!"

Katsushirou smiled a little, unable to keep himself from being affected by the jovial atmosphere, and was soon invited to join in the competition, an offer he declined. As he observed the men, he noted that even in peacetime, the confidence which the villagers had gained from their victory over the Nobuseri had remained and grown, which was reflected in the marked improvement in their handling of the bow. Pleased with what he saw, he remarked to Rikchi, who had been taking a break next to him, "You have all improved greatly. If there were any Nobuseri straying about now, I believe you could chase them off by yourselves handily even without hired samurai."

The elder man laughed heartily in response to the compliment. "You flatter us, o-samurai-sama. We just didn't want to forget the feeling of strength we had in our bodies when we fought for our village, when you called us soldiers of our Kanna castle..."

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud groan of frustration from Manzo, whom they saw stamping his feet against the ground next to a giant of a man, who was scratching his large face and regarding the old man's antics, which could only be described as comical.

"Looks like Denma won again." Rikchi said, pointing to the younger farmer, who stood two and a half heads taller than his defeated opponent. "Manzo just doesn't know when to give up. No one in the village can match Denma's size and strength, and the way he pulls the bow is remarkable..." He shrugged. "Old Manzo doesn't like the way Denma looks at Shino I guess."

Surprised to hear of Manzo not giving in on anything, Katsushirou nonetheless smiled as he thought of the old man's attachment to his daughter; more so than his ancestral fields, Shino had to be Manzo's most precious possession in the world. He continued to watch as the barrel-chested Denma consistently planted arrows across the face of the target, a big bale of hay bound tightly into a circular shape, from the distance of 80 paces, when Manzo's own arrows failed to even reach the target half the time.

Whether it was because of sympathy for the embattled old farmer or the competitive nature of his youth, Katsushirou did not know, but his felt his fingers begin to twitch, and in the end, he walked up to the participants and spectators at the line and said. "I think… I will give it a try after all."

For a moment those assembled became quiet, and Katsushirou was about to rescind his self invitation before a buzz of excitement broke out among the peasants who were thrilled at the chance to see their former commander back in action. Manzo went so far as to propose a prize, speaking to the young warrior. "O-Samurai-sama, if you can put this muscle-headed oaf in his place, I will provide the drinks afterwards!"

Some whistled, "How stingy you are, Manzo old man. For a monumental task as this, you ought to offer o-samurai-sama your daughter's hand!" General laughter broke out as Manzo's face turned red. Katsushirou chuckled half-heartedly.

------

Kirara had been taking a walk through the village that morning, and was presently seated against the gentle slop of a grassy knoll, from where she had a good view of the range where the men were practicing at. Her dark eyes followed the figure of the young samurai, whose unexpected presence accounted for the extra excitement and enthusiasm within the party that morning. It was clear that the villageloved him; his youthful strength, his modest manners, and even now, when the sound of his quiet laughter reached her, she found her hand unconsciously reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

One week had passed since the night Katsushirou returned, and Kirara had not held a real conversation with him since. They passed by each other in the village from time to time, but aside from the exchange of formal greetings, they had not talked.

She had not forgotten the words he spoke--and the words he left unspoken--that night, on top of that moonlit hill, where the fragrance of blossoming flowers had lingered across the site of the tombs. She watched out for him these past few days, watched as he returned from training in the mornings, clothes soaked through with sweat, and she wanted to ask him why, when there was no more wars to prepare for, no more battles to fight? Even though he was able to converse cheerfully enough with the villagers, she saw beneath the façade, the uncommitted smile and the chuckle that rang hollow, the void which he sought to fill: There was a part of himself that Katsushirou was missing, and three years later, he was still struggling alone to find closure.

Alone… that would partly be her fault, wouldn't it? A pleasant breeze swept slowly across the knoll which she sat upon, causing the hem of her outfit's skirt to flutter a little.

Kirara watched as Katsushirou picked up a bow, and to the astonishment of the murmuring men, began walking back from the line. She sighed; Kirara did not know how to help him find the answer he was searching for, no better than she knew her own… but she knew that to take no action would result in nothing changed. '… Like what I have been doing for the last three years.'

Katsushirou stopped when he was about twenty paces behind the line; one hundred paces from the target that Denma and Manzo had just been aiming for. He brought the bow up to level, arms firm and un-shaking as he steadily drew back the taut string to full extension. When he released, a small thrill arose within Kirara as she watched the arrow fly straight and true over a shallow arc and finally bury itself into the center of the bale of hay, eliciting a cheer from the group of farmers as they gathered around the young man to laud his prowess. Kirara saw him shift uncomfortably, no doubt trying to give himself less credit than he deserved… but he deserved more, so much more than this brief moment of peace which he reluctantly permitted himself.

And Kirara yearned to repay him, if only a little.

* * *

Author's Notes: I was surprised by the warm reception this story has received and the number of reviews as well. Thank you all very much for your encouragement and critiques; your comments have motivated me tremendously, and I hope that if you like this story, you will continue to read and maybe even share it with your friends to help spread the popularity of this wonderful, yet underrated anime series.  



	4. Chapter 4: Small Steps

Cleansing: A Samurai 7 fanfiction

Author: Cal-Reflector

Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai 7 or the characters contained therein.

**Chapter 4: Small Steps**

_Somewhere the neighborhood of the main village._

"Katsushirou-sama?"

On his way home to clean up from his morning exercise in the distant woods, Katushirou turned upon hearing the familiar voice. "Kirara-donno… Good morning, what can I do for you?"

The young samurai observed the young woman before him curiously, who appeared to experience difficulty iterating what was on her mind. An awkward moment's hesitation later, she unclasped her hands and began slowly smoothing out invisible creases in her tea-brown kimono. "I… was just wondering whether you were enjoying your stay here."

The young man smiled. "I am having a wonderful time. Everyone has been too kind to me, so much that I feel rather guilty for feeding off of their hospitality constantly."

"But you have done so much for us! It is only fair that we be allowed to repay you for your services…" Realizing from Katsushirou's startled expression that she had unconsciously raised her voice, Kirara quickly averted her eyes from his inquiring gaze, which only served to perplex him even more. Bringing her hands together once more, she continued in a tone just above a whisper. "Anyhow… I came to ask whether you might honor my house by having dinner with us this evening."

Katsushirou's eyes widened, just as a sudden gust of wind sent the first of several browning leaves swirling past the two standing in the middle of the street, signaling the gradual onset of autumn, and the beginning of a season's change.

-----

Hours later, as the setting sun illuminated the sky with the last brilliant embers of daylight, Kirara was in the kitchen of her home, filled with the smell of cooking smoke, steam, and sounds of crackling wood and boiling pots. The long sleeves of her dress were fastened above her elbows with a white ribbon, revealing her slender yet firm arms. Her flowing locks were similarly tied back to prevent them from getting in the way as she went about the necessary preparations for supper.

Presently, she knelt in front of the opening to the wood burning oven with a green length of hollow bamboo in her hands, and with deep breaths in between blew air through the tube to fan the flames, the effort turning her cheeks bright red. Wiping away the sheen of perspiration on her forehead with the back of her hand, she noted satisfactorily that everything was going well, and all the dishes would be ready soon. Kirara's grandmother ambled in slowly, a pleasantly wrinkled expression on her face as she watched her granddaughter work. "My… it all smells so wonderful. Do you need help with anything?"

Kirara smiled brightly as she straightened up, patting a bit of dust off from the front of her apron. "No, everything is fine. Could you ask Komachi to start setting the table, Grandmother? I expect that our guest will be here shortly."

The creases on the elder woman's face deepened with her smile. She continued to observe the young woman as she lifted the wooden cover off a pot. "You will surely make a lovely bride, Kirara." A wistful sigh escaped lips weathered with age. "I only wish I could live to see that day..."

Kirara laughed uneasily as she replaced the lid. "Are you still saying things like that, grandmother? Surely you will live to be one hundred and twenty, plenty of time to see Komachi married off."

"Kirara…" Grandmother's brows furrowed, that expression of concern all too familiar to the younger woman, who stirred the contents of the bubbling pot without further words; there were some things which just could not be helped, some things that could not be let go of, and Kirara had come to accept them as her due.

Reaching for a clean cloth to wipe her hands on, the younger woman put on a small smile for her grandmother and walked towards the doorway connecting the kitchen to the rest of the house. "Now, where has that sister of mine run off to…?"

At that moment, the enthusiastic voice of Kirara's young sibling rang out from the direction of the front yard. "Welcome, Katsunoji!" This was followed by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps down the hallway, as Komachi ran right into her sister who was heading outwards. "Nee-chan! Katsunoji's here!"

"And what poor manners of you to just leave him standing out there, hmm?" Chiding her unabashed sister thus, she walked out the open front door to see Katsushirou standing on the path leading to her house several paces away, his face lit yellow by the glow coming from within the house as the evening's waning light obscured the rest of his surroundings in a tint of blue-gray. The young samurai, dressed in a different garb than his usual, appeared a bit uneasy as he came forward, a cloth bound package held in one hand. "Umm… good evening, sorry to intrude upon you."

Kirara returned his bow with a smile. "Good evening Katsushirou-sama. I apologize for Komachi's bad manners and my poor appearance…" The young man looked on as Kirara, her face still aglow in pink with the kitchen's heat, began undoing the apron around her waist. "Dinner will be ready soon, so please come in and make yourself comfortable."

After leading him into the house, Kirara excused herself to the kitchen, and as the young samurai began removing his sandals on the front steps of the doorway, Kirara's grandmother came out to greet their guest after setting Komachi on the task of table setting. "Welcome, o-samurai-sama, we're honored to have you with us tonight."

Katsushirou stood up quickly and bowed to the senior of the household. "Thank you for having me over." Straightening, he smiled at the old lady who had been his host in the past, when Kanna village was in threat of arms. "I'm glad to see that you are still in good health and high spirits, Grandmother."

The elder lady smiled kindly at the handsome young man whom she, like everyone else, was tremendously fond of. Katsushirou bent down to pick up the parcel by his feet and presented it to her. "Knowing that it would be rude for me to come empty handed, Sanae-san gave me this." He placed the package before the kneeling elder lady. "It is youkan, perhaps you could serve it as dessert later."

"Sanae-san is too kind. She will spoil Komachi like this." The elder lady laughed dryly through a surprisingly toothy grin as she accepted the gift.

Lowering himself onto the tatami mats near the dinner table, Katsushirou could smell the aroma of cooking in the air and sounds of chatter from the kitchen, where Grandmother had joined Kirara. Taking in his surroundings, he observed that much had changed since his last visit to this home: Kirara's small library grew in size, and whereas in the past candles were used sparingly in evenings to conserve, the house was now cozily lit with several candle stands and steady burning wicker oil lamps encased in frames of origami paper. General décor was still sparse, but the presence of a few additional pieces of furniture reflected the good times that Kanna village was enjoying as a whole. His eyes caught sight of a set of wind chimes suspended in the doorway, whose bamboo clappers produced a string of clear and soothing notes.

A minute later, he found himself joined at the table by Komachi, who had plopped down wordlessly besides him. Resting her arms on the table, the young girl tilted her head sideways to look up at Katsushirou, studying the young samurai intensely through small narrowed eyes, all the while nodding her head intermittently and making various sounds of approval. Finally, at the end of the evaluation, she spoke in a serious tone like that of a wizened judge in human character. "I see that you've finally become a man, Katsunoji."

The effect of the diminutive girl's statement on Katsunoji was comical, and he found himself greatly amused. "You, Komachi, have not changed one bit."

She pouted in reply. "I did too! Sister says that I've grown taller. And besides…" Crossing her arms in front of herself, Komachi smiled proudly. "I am now the village's water maiden, and am responsible for all the important ceremonies."

"But still a kid…" Katsushirou suppressed a laugh when Komachi turned away, her cheeks puffed out in apparent displeasure, before Kirara's voice called out from the kitchen.

"Komachi, help me carry these plates out!"

"Coming…" Komachi made a face and stuck her tongue out at the smiling young man, before breaking into a wide grin and running off to her sister's aid.

-----

"… Delicious." Katsushirou remarked in a voice of wonder as he busied his teeth with the fish grilled on a stick in his hands.

"Thank you, I am glad it suits your tastes." Kirara smiled from across the table, genuinely relieved by Katsushirou's favorable reception of her cooking, which, as she realized now, had been a matter of grave concern that weighed upon her considerably during preparation.

"It certainly does complement the rice well." Lifting the bowl to his face, he pushed a mouthful of the fluffy white grains into his mouth with his chopsticks. "This is definitely the best cooking I have tasted in a long time."

"You flatter me, Katsushirou-sama. It is nothing but simple country fare…"

"Nee-chan spent almost all day preparing this meal." Komachi interjected nonchalantly as she reached for a platter of glazed yam, a grain of rice stuck by an upturned corner of her mouth.

"Komachi!" Kirara's cheeks reddened at her sister's imprudent remark, who shrugged even as her face took on an expression of bliss as she took a bite of the sugary dish.

Katsushirou scratched the back of his head and chuckled lightly. "You needn't have gone to such troubles for me, but..." His sharp eyes suddenly softened, a sight which filled Kirara with a spread of warmth. "… Thank you."

Grandmother looked approvingly upon the genial atmosphere. "Then eat up. Young men like you should eat a lot, plus…" the hunched-backed old lady glanced towards her granddaughter with something resembling mischief in her expression, "It really isn't often that Kirara works so hard to cook a meal."

"I… umm… Ah, we need more tea! I'll be right back." After Kirara hastily excused herself, Katsushirou, who was fairly oblivious to the entire sequence, soon followed Grandmother's advice on the food.

-----

After the table had been cleared and the after-meal tea served, the family and their young guest relaxed with the special treat Katsushirou had brought and idle conversation. Komachi pleaded with Katsushirou for stories of his adventures over the past three years, and while he claimed apologetically to the disappointed girl that he had no extraordinary exploits during his travels, Kirara, in her curiosity, also requested him to tell his tales. Reluctantly, the young samurai began his story. He started slowly, from the first town he arrived at after leaving Kanna village three years ago, but buoyed by the enthusiasm and attentiveness of his small audience, his confidence grew, and soon had the ball rolling, riveting the three women with personal accounts and events that had taken place outside of their remote village.

Komachi was thoroughly delighted by Katsushirou's stories, which made up for its lack in dramatic flair with thoroughness and detail, allowing her vivid imagination able to fill in the rest. Much later, after Katsushirou concluded the account of how he had driven off the pack of scoundrels who were leeching off a small town, she was bubbling over with excitement and questions. "So what happened after that? What happened after you got rid of the bandits who were extorting that merchant?"

Katsushirou took a sip from his cup to soothe his throat after the length narrative. "He was a very fine gentleman who traded fairly with the farmers he dealt with, and so wanted to give me a generous award, but it was something that I could not accept."

Komachi's eyes were aglow as she drew closer. "What was it? What was the reward?"

"Well…" A moment's hesitation passed as Katsushirou pondered whether it would be wise to reveal this information, but gave in to the younger girl's persistence in the end. "He offered to marry his daughter to me and for me to take up his business and assets."

"Wow! I never knew you had it in you, Katsunoji! Why didn't you accept?"

"That's because…"

"I know! She must have been too ugly huh?"

"On the contrary, she was quite pretty and brought up well in mind and manners."

Komachi looked confused as she cocked her head to one side. "So what was the problem then?"

"I…" As Katushirou turned away from Komachi to think of a response, his eyes met Kirara's, who was waiting intently for his response as well; he turned his gaze to the floor. "Well, I guess that I would not have been a suitable match for the merchant's fine daughter. She would not have favored me, as I am but a poor, unrefined samurai without status or property."

A deep frown formed on Kirara's face. "That is not true, Katsushirou-sama. I do not think she would have disliked you for something like that. After all, you have many other endearing qualities, such as your kindness, your strength, your…" Her words trailing off, Kirara felt heat come to her face as she became aware of how her words may come across as. "Oh, what am I saying…?"

Katsushirou, however, was moved by the gesture of encouragement his friend offered. "Thank you… for thinking so highly of me."

"It's… nothing..."

Komachi nodded sagely as she put in her two cents on top of Kirara's muted reply. "Even if Nee-chan was saying that just to make you feel better, at the very least you're not half-bad to look at."

The young samurai's loud laughter was soon joined by those surrounding him as any lingering trace of unease from moments ago became quickly forgotten, and the merriment at Kirara's house continued late into the night in the peaceful village.

* * *

Authors Notes: I wish thank all of you, those of you who read and those of you who commented as well. You are my source of motivation, and I hope in spite of my tedious college schedule, I will be able to continue to meet your expectations in the future. This chapter was a reversal from the previous ones in its lighter atmosphere. In the next chapter (or the one after), Katsushirou and Kirara try to lay to rest some ghosts from their pasts with a trip outdoors. 


	5. Chapter 5: Faces

**Cleansing: A Samurai 7 fanfiction**

Author: Cal-Reflector

Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai 7 or the characters contained therein.

**Chapter 5: Faces**

_Ukyo's palace, approaching Kanna village, three years ago _

Racing through the decks of the gargantuan flying fortress that was ablaze everywhere from the destruction wrought by his comrades, eyes reddened by smoke from burning hulks of jagged metal and smoldering craters, sword in hand the only reassurance which bound him to sanity and kept him from losing his mind, Katsushirou ran and tore through every moving thing he came across, regardless of whether they were fighting or fleeing. His long black strands trailed behind him wildly, his face twisted in anger and agony like a demon who left in his wake a trail of corpses and dismembered limbs. A pungent odor filled the air, permeating every pore in his body and his clothes, so strong that he could taste it, so thick that he saw it coloring his vision; the smell of sulfur and gunpowder, of burning fuels and plastics and singed hair and slick blood and scorched flesh.

The smell of the battlefield.

Onwards he ran, frantically, aimlessly, his katana sinking into and through everything that it encountered, his motions lacking all the form and finesse that is the pride of a samurai's practice. They were artless chops, hacks, and stabs, driven by the brute force of a haunted man hounded to desperation with loathing and hatred for himself; they were the swings of a butcher's knife.

His desperation came from the loss of the two things he held dearest, more necessary than air and more precious than life itself: The loss of his honor as a samurai, when he committed the most appalling deed of fratricide; when in the confused heat of battle, he picked up and pulled the trigger of that foul gun, spewing bullets that ripped clean through his enemy and into Kyuzo's body. Kyuzo, that superb man, that magnificent warrior whom he so admired and looked upon as an example for all samurai, whom he endeavored to emulate, whose wide, disbelieving eyes met his own horror-filled gaze at that moment when he realized that he would never fulfill his wish of facing Kambei in a proper duel, that his life had been ended by the gun in the hands of the shaking young man before him, his comrade.

The loss of the person he swore to protect, who promised to stand by him and never leave him to face the coming trials alone. He lost her when he kissed her outside the Hotaru Inn weeks ago, when she had looked at him with eyes filled not with tenderness, not understanding or acceptance, but shock; dismay. It was a look that bunched into a fist and struck him across the face, leaving him reeling and stunned. Heart broken and hardened by her rejection, he turned and left her, and he never looked back.

Now later, in what he believed, hoped, was the final battle in which he would meet his end, as he surrendered himself to the intoxicating scent of the battlefield and the heady feel of bloodlust, he found the image of her entering back into his mind constantly; breaking in despite his resistance as he struggled to quell all tender emotions and feelings he held for her, knowing on whom her heart truly rested, someone who he could never hope to and would not compete with. When he pushed away from her that night, he had determined to close his heart to her, to kill all the hopes that their promises to each other once held… The face of the girl for whose sake he picked up his sword and sullied it in blood, the blood of his enemies that he let fly through the air now, splattering onto his hands, his clothes, his face, and as he cleaved another man in half, he felt the wetness on his cheeks increase, not from the crimson spray, but a salty trail of tears from his own eyes.

_Why am I still living? Why am I still living when Gorobei-dono is dead, when Heihachi-dono is dead, when Kyuzo-dono is dead, murdered by my treacherous hands? Why am I still living when Kirara-dono doesn't need me anymore, when she has Sensei to protect and look out for her and make her happy?_

_Why am I still living when there's nothing, no one, left for me?_

_Why am I still living?_

And with his sword gripped tightly in hand, eyes red with smoke and tears that mingled with the blood on his face, he charged towards the enemy, his mouth open as a scream welled up from the depths of his soul.

On that day, something within the young samurai died.

----

_Present day, Rikchi's home._

Katsushirou snapped up into a sitting position, sweat running down his forehead and back as his body heaved with ragged breaths. One of his hands was twisted into the blanket that covered him, knuckles strained white from the tension that had seized him during the nightmare, the nightmare that happened three years ago and had revisited him ever since. His eyes darted about the dark, unfamiliar surroundings; a clean room inlaid with tatami mats and enclosed with paper-screen doors, a cup and a pot of water on a platter beside his bed, a thin sleeping robe around him now damp with moisture from his heated body. He became aware of a coppery taste in his mouth, and drawing two fingers to his lips and coming away with red, found that he had bitten through his lower lip to suppress the scream from his dream.

He shut his eyes and fisted a hand against them, the images lingering in the recesses of his mind brought back by the taste of blood; it was the first time he had that dream since he returned to Kanna village. In the three years of his sojourning, Katsushirou had seen the vision often enough, reliving that terrible day when he lost his goal and direction in life with the death of his comrades and the loss of the girl whom he had made a promise with. It was yet the wee hours in the middle of the night, long before the break of dawn and his usual time for rising. Finding his throat parched, he flipped back the blanket and reached over to pour himself a cup of water, the liquid stinging as it passed over the break in his lips. His thoughts returned to the expression of the blonde samurai in the red jacket that day; as he lay dying in Kambei's arms, Kyuzo had not looked at anyone in particular, but for a moment Katsushirou had glimpsed his gaze locked with his own, with the same studied look of stoicism that he was so famous for among friends and foes alike. The red samurai's eyes had been neutral, carrying no malice or accusation towards the young samurai who had taken his life by mistake.

Three years later, Katsushirou wondered still what Kyuzo had meant to convey to him through that gaze in the final moments of his life.

----

_Four days later_

A calendar keeping precise dates was of little import, except to mark a few important dates for festivals and ceremonies, to the inhabitants of Kanna village, with its freedom from technology and the hustle and bustle of swirling commerce in the major cities. The farmers understood the time from the change of the season and its subtle effects on the land from which they raised their livelihood; presently, it was close to the time for the late autumn harvest, when the stalks in the fields were heavy with heads full of rice.

Usually, there was little to gossip about in the tight-knit community of the village, especially with the amount of preparation there was to be done as harvest season loomed, which is why when Shino, daughter of the wizened farmer Manzo, began wearing in public brighter colors and even some modest accessories, word soon began circulating amongst the womenfolk that Manzo's daughter had in mind to attract the attention of one particular young man. More enthusiastic relaters of the tale even whispered to interested listeners of how the girl had been discretely visiting Rikchi's home to consult his wife, Sanae, on the fine subjects of makeup and dressing one's appearance. More extraordinary however was the fact that old man Manzo was not busting a blood vessel over the matter; rumor even had it that Shino's undertaking had the tacit approval of her famously stringent father, which was probably as telling on the matter as the bold behavior of his daughter.

None of this ever reached Katsushirou's ears, for obvious reasons, and the fact that he was a marked man was obvious to everyone in the village but the young samurai himself.

Kirara rarely give herself to gossiping with the women of the village, but had caught wind of this recent development from Komachi's chattering. On this afternoon, she was overseeing her younger sister's writing lessons in their home; copying from one of her simpler books which she used for instruction, an exercise which the energetic Komachi soon grew restless from as she rested her head against the table where they sat.

"Nee-chan…"

"Not until you've finished five pages." Kirara replied flatly, not skipping a line in the book she was perusing.

Komachi eyed warily the brush and ink blot to her side and sighed, the rustle of the browning foliage in the garden outside taunting and filling her with a desire to run out and scoop the fallen leaves into a pile with her friends, to serve as a pyre to roast orange yams in… She eyed her sister pleadingly, but Kirara was used to this maneuver and kept her eyes on the pages of her book. Komachi sighed again as she thought longingly of her friend's position of freedom. "… I'll bet Okara never has to copy verses or learn calligraphy."

"That's because she's not the water maiden." The former water maiden turned a page in her book slowly, a classic work of literature about courtesan romance which she acquired from a traveling librarian months ago by trading him two volumes from her own collection.

The present water priestess pouted and picked up the brush, watching as a drop of ink fell back into the blot; she was sorely bored, and even though she understood that her sister meant well for her to be literate, love for reading and writing was something that she simply did not possess, and not even her precious sister's most earnest entreaties could change that. Aware that her efforts to sway her older sibling had failed, Komachi changed the subject. "I wonder what Katsunoji is doing right now…"

A small smile appeared on Kirara's lips. "Who knows, reading a book perhaps; Katsushirou-sama learned to recite and write a fair hand when he was young, you know."

Komachi turned up her nose sourly, as if the very thought of her Katsunoji holding a scroll of poetry lowered the opinion the she had of the young man. "Not if Shino keeps visiting Rikchi's house all the time, pretending to talk with Sanae-san when she's really there to see him." The smile faltered slightly as Kirara lowered her book, which the latter did not fail to notice. "Well, it's not as if she actually gets to see him much, since Katsunoji is rarely home these days, as he now spends even his afternoons walking or training in the woods far away or sitting by himself on top of the samurai-samas' hill."

The trace of relief which Kirara felt at her sister's words was soon followed by worry for the young samurai's recent state of withdraw, but before she could inquire more into the matter… "Komachi, how do you know all of this?"

The young girl grinned confidently as she put her arms behind her head. "My friends and I keep close tabs on him. We know where he's been in a day, when he takes a bath, even what he had for dinner… speaking of which, he's been eating less lately." The elation on the young girl's face dimmed as she rested her head atop her arms folded across the table. "I think something is bothering Katsunoji; he seemed less energetic these last few days."

Kirara was aware of the change as well. For a while after they invited him over for dinner, he seemed to be renewed with genuine light-heartedness… up until a few days ago, when the melancholy returned; it reminded her of how he appeared the first night after his return. "I wish… that he would talk to me about it."

As the two siblings sat brooding at the table, Komachi began to fume, her mind occupied with the absurdity of their situation; two fine maidens fretting and frowning over the emotional boy who used to be (and in Komachi's mind, still was, in a way) at the bottom of the pecking order in their little band of swordsmen and farmers. She was not as immature as her older sister imagined, no matter how often she was told otherwise, and she had seen how Kirara's spirits lifted since Katsunoji returned; whereas before she had drifted aimlessly like a lone fish in the river that had lost her way, she was now joined by another one, equally aimless, but together they were able to surely, if not slowly and clumsily, help each other move in the right direction: forward.

And she was going to memorize and copy down her sister's entire collection of books and scrolls before she let her waste another three years, waiting and wondering whether her life ended the day the samurai left Kanna village.

"I'm going to go find him."

Standing up abruptly, Komachi was at the screen door slipping into her sandals before Kirara could react from her surprise. "Wait, Komachi! What…"

"I'm going to find Katsunoji to go see the maples with me tomorrow; the weather lately is perfect for a walk." With one hand on the front door, Komachi turned at the last moment and addressed her sister almost as an afterthought, though her candid grin suggested otherwise. "Oh, and you're welcome to come along if you like, Nee-chan."

It was not until a minute after the door slid shut and Komachi's footsteps passed out of earshot down the path to the village that it occurred to Kirara that her sister might have merely been looking for an excuse to go out and play and skip her lessons. That or she was merely being considerate for the young samurai… and perhaps for her older sister as well.

Kirara sighed as she walked back to clean up the writing utensils her sister had left in such a hurry, and found herself smiling a little.

_Probably a bit of all three._

_

* * *

_  
Authors Notes: Thanks to all who have waited, some longer (much longer…) than others, with such patience on this sloth of an author. The story is still very much alive and kicking, thanks entirely to your encouragement and enthusiasm for this little, but growing fandom.


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